


Set Me Off

by Four_Five_Still_Alive



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Force (Comics), X-Men Evolution
Genre: F/F, Marvel X-men media crossovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-30 01:00:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17818805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Four_Five_Still_Alive/pseuds/Four_Five_Still_Alive
Summary: My name is Ellie, but I came to be known by a different name, a much longer name. Heres a bit of my story from boring foster child, to humiliated Jr high schooler, to mutant.You know what sucks? Puberty, lesbian love, and trying to figure out who you are in a world where every side seems to be crashing down on you.Hey, when you were going through puberty didn't YOU with you could explode?Well I can, because I am a Negasonic Teenage Warhead.





	Set Me Off

Warhead was always a pretty good way to describe me. I was always a child under extreme pressure ready to explode. Ever see a little kid throw a tantrum where they hold their breath? That wasn’t me. I could have held my breath until I passed out and no one would have cared. But watching through the stairway banister railings as the biological child of my foster parents held his breath to get his way…well…lets just say someday the tables would be turned. And I would be able to throw a temper tantrum the likes of which no one had ever seen. You can call me Negasonic Teenage Warhead. But back then, looking through the banister, I was just Ellie.

 

Ellie Phimister, the foster child, was not an epithet I hoped to carry my whole life. But getting adopted is hard when you’re a stubborn untrusting little girl that has seen the world as an unfair place from day one. And yea, overall, I guess I didn’t have _too_ much to complain about. I didn’t have to go through as many foster homes as most of the kids I met in the system. And the last home I was in didn’t beat me or abuse me or anything. I had chores to do like any other kid, the thing that made it unfair was being unloved.

 

I watched day after day as the brat my foster parents had birthed cried and screamed and hollered until he got his latest toy, or game system, or fruit snack. My chores weren’t hard and my foster parents, Ed and Deena Westmire, weren’t mean. They just heavily implied that my average life in their house would only last as long as my usefulness. So I didn’t get the toys I wanted, I didn’t get the coolest new fruit snacks (unless that brat Daniel didn’t like them for some reason) and my clothes were always second hand. So other than the mild psychological trauma of being raised Ias an afterthought and less worthy, I didn’t have much to complain about. Not all that tragic as far as origin stories go.

 

But quiet little Ellie Phimister would only last as long as my thirteenth birthday, because as soon as I hit puberty…well, lets just say _my_ puberty could hit back. And my teenage angst had a hit list. Ok, so it wasn’t _on_ my thirteenth birthday that I got my powers. That birthday came and went like any other. My foster parents made me a cake and left it on the kitchen table for me to wake up to when they left in the morning. By the time I woke up everyone was always gone. The Westmires would get up for work and wake Daniel (if I was lucky Daniels complaining about having to go to school that day didn’t wake _me_ ) they would drive him to his fancy private school and I would be left to get myself out of bed and catch the buss to public school. They left me a bag lunch on the table and a list of chores for when I got home. My birthday wasn’t much different. Bag lunch. List. But _today_ I got a whole cake to myself! It was a small cake (because they had to use the other half of the cake mix to make one for Daniel to stop him from complaining) but the Westmires even took the time to figure out what my favorite was. Spongey yellow cake with rainbow chip frosting.

 

I cut my modest birthday cake into four pieces, quickly wolfing down the first piece as I sloppily packed the second in foil to stuff in my paper bag. The rest I put on the counter for after school. I heard the buss hissing to a stop outside the house and darted out the door to school, excited to finally be a “teenager”. Its funny how you’re exited when you’re young about something that also happens to be the _worst_ time of your life…


End file.
